


drunk enough to dream, almost enough to believe

by Grigori_girl



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alec and Shepard were friends and you can't tell me otherwise, Gen, Pre-Andromeda, Quiss Shepard, idk what this is, post-ME1, totally self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigori_girl/pseuds/Grigori_girl
Summary: two soldiers share a drink and remember what it means to be a hero (hint; it's a pain in the ass)





	drunk enough to dream, almost enough to believe

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses for this tbh. I'm just very here for Shepard and Alec being friends because, honestly, he probably doesn't have very many whoops. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite living-legend-turned-heretic.”

Alec sighs, his head hanging low over an empty glass of what used to be whiskey, as if his unkempt hair could shield both his face and his embarrassment. “Please, Shepard, let an old man wallow in peace.”  

The commander huffs a laugh and plops down in the barstool beside him. When he takes a peek from behind the curtain of his hair, he notices she isn't dressed in her usual Alliance blues, but rather a tight fitting dress, her hair down from its strict bun and flowing to the middle of her back. “What's with the getup?”

“Oh, this old thing?” She says, despite the very apparent newness of it, her hand brushing along the crisp fabric. The bartender finally takes note of the commander and hurries to get her a drink. Shepard orders—whiskey, neat—and returns her attention to the downtrodden now-ex N7 before her. “Got a hot date with a bunch of bureaucrats,” the bartender slides her glass down the bar top, and Shepard catches it easily. “The duties of a ‘hero’ never end.”

Alec snorts, knowing full well what it was to be a hero. Only, he was merely an inspiration to humans. Shepard is an icon to _all._ “Udina gotcha wrapped around his dirty little finger, eh?”

She chokes a little on her drink and she claps her hand over her mouth and nose as she coughs it down. After a moment she recovers with a rough laugh, “He wishes. The man couldn't tell me to breathe without an argument.” That truly pulls a chuckle from the old soldier, his hand pushing through his unwashed hair to finally get it out of his face. He was about due for a haircut. Shepard watches him with that up-to-no-good twinkle in her eye, a clear sign that she had plans and he wasn't going to be privy to them anytime soon. She takes a sip of her whiskey, “So, Alec, care to tell me why you're wallowing in your sorrows in one of the Citadel’s sleaziest port-bars?”

Ah, there it is. Damn woman never knew when mind her own business—probably why she saved the Citadel and all their asses. “Well,” he starts, clinking the melting ice around in his glass, unsure as to why he actually _wants_ to tell her. Maybe because he knows Shepard, knows she takes no shit and, well, she knows his family. Hell, she practically _is_ family, at least to him. “For starters, Ellen...Ellen isn't doing so well.”

Her shoulders immediately sag, drooping as her brows raise in surprise. “Oh shit, what happened?” She tosses a gaze about the little bar, as if Ellen was waiting around the corner to pop out and surprise them all. “I thought she was in remission.”

“Yeah, she was.” Alec says with a sigh, his eyes burning despite himself. “She's in Huerta Memorial right now. Doctors got her on bed rest until further notice.”

“I don't like the sound of that.”

“Me neither.”

They both sigh and take a drink—Shepard swigging down the last of her whiskey, Alec grimacing past the watered down remnants sloughing off the ice in his glass. They both raise their hand to call the bartender for another round, and their odd synchronization startles him at how similar they are. Shit, if they didn't look so starkly different (and if he wouldn't have had that handy little implant back in his service years), he would've sworn she was his own kid. She might as well _be._ Her adoptive mothers are good women: headstrong, generally kind, older than all of them combined, and fierce as all hell—but damn him if he doesn't feel a little like family to the commander.

“How’re the kids?” She asks after their drinks sling down the sticky bar, blunt nails tapping senselessly against the cool glass. “I know it can't be easy on ‘em.”

Alec chuckles darkly, shaking his head at the thought of his children, “Yeah, ‘not handling it well’ would be an understatement.” He could practically feel their restless energy already. Once they arrive, it'll be nothing but a whole hell of a lot of pacing and cursing and a fair amount of crying but...there wasn't much else for them _to_ do. SAM wasn't able to reverse Ellen’s disease, couldn't really do much against it at all, and in creating SAM, Alec had effectively lost all his old contacts and resources. Half of them thought he was a fool, a man driven to unethical extremes to save his dying wife, and maybe they were a little right. Alec would do _anything_ to protect his family. The other half? Well, they thought he deserved to be locked up and shut away, someone with too much power and knowledge and resourcefulness to be allowed to walk free—what if he created something that would kill them all?

He shook himself from his thoughts and was met with Shepard’s bottomless stare, eyes greener than even the brightest cosmo scrutinizing and careful. Knowing her, he wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if she saw every thought as it flitted through his mind. Alec flashes her a weak smile, forcing himself to keep his head above water—at least for as long as Shepard was here. The girl had enough on her plate as is. “So, what's next for the Savior of the Citadel?”

She laughs a little, and for a second he fears that she won't follow his lead and let his familial plights drop, but she allows him to dodge out of her prodding—for now. “Well, after we finish up with all this pompous parading and politicking, I hear the council plans on sending me after errant pockets of geth.”

“You're shitting me.”

“Oh, I fuckin’ wish.” She shakes her head, jaw clenched, her face that stony mask that scared even giant genocidal robots shitless. “We all know that the Reapers are the _real_ threat and, frankly, my time and talents would be put to better use in searching for a way to _stop_ the Reapers.”

“Absolutely.” He says, already mapping out how to place soldiers in his mind. Sending someone like Shepard after geth? There wasn't a logical reason for it, unless they were trying to get rid of her. Preoccupy her time, keep her away from the big dogs while they fight over the bone she tossed them. Alec looks her dead in the eye as he states, “They're trying to cover it up.”

She nods, takes a drink, and drums her fingers on the bar. Her gaze is far away as she chews on her thoughts, mulling over her strategy to help save those ungrateful assholes who, unfortunately, hold her leash. “It would be easier to allow the civilians to forget, blame the geth...and in doing so raise a new wave of resentment against the quarians.”

“With humanity gaining a seat on the council so soon, non-council species are already beginning to resent humanity as well.”

“Yeah, that too.” Shepard sighs and scrubs her hands through her hair, fingers scratching at her scalp. “Fuck, Alec. I don't know what I'm gonna do. I already broke about a hundred different Alliance regs just to beat Sovereign, but that was overlooked because of the council giving me the green light to go after Saren.”

“But to do it again, you'd have to defy both the Alliance and the council.”

“Bingo.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.” She tips her glass at him before polishing it off. Beneath carefully applied makeup, Alec spots the shadows beneath her eyes. This isn't the first time she's thought about this, just the first time she's had someone else—a superior who knows the ways of the Alliance and the council both—confirm it.

Goddammit, the poor kid didn't deserve this shit.

Alec opens his mouth to say...something, anything, fuck if he knows but something needs to come out of his mouth and help her get out of this grave the council is working on burying her in, but before anything could come to mind, a turian sidles up beside the commander, dressed down in a spiffy new...suit? At least, that’s what he assumed his outfit was supposed to be. The intricacies of alien dress still tended to elude him, even after all these years. Shepard greets the turian with a smile, swiveling around to face him, and it's then that it hits him that this must be Garrus Vakarian—the ex-CSEC officer that served on the Normandy with her during the hunt for Saren and, of course, he was Castis’ kid.

“Hey,” she greets him, eyes alighting as she pushes her worries to the wayside, “took you long enough.” The kid huffs a laugh, mandibles drawing up in an alien approximation of a smile, the thin skin of his neck turning blue under her appraising gaze. Alec does his best to smother his smile. Well, shit. Poor kid seems to have a crush on their dear commander. He may not be a fashion icon, but he sure as hell knows a blushing fledgling when he sees one—especially since _this_ Vakarian seems to have the same tells as his father. Shepard looks Vakarian up and down, a slow smile dimpling her cheeks and, he’ll be damned, she likes him too. “You clean up nice.”

“You too. Better than me, of course.” Vakarian chuckles, hooks a bit of her long hair with a talon and allows it to slip over his knuckle. “Couldn’t seem to get my fringe to look as nice as yours.”

Alec does his best to hide his mirthful snort, really, he does, but the two of them whip their heads up and give him a look like they’d forgotten he was there. And really, he wouldn’t blame them if they had. He was glad to see Shepard actually living, potentially finding a respite from the military life. God knows she’d be better at keeping up with it than he was.

Her face flushes a little, “Shit. Alec, this is Garrus. Garrus, this is Alec Ryder.”

Garrus faces him fully then, offers a hand and gives Alec’s a firm shake. “Sir, it's been awhile.”

“Hmm. It's been, what? Ten, fifteen years?”

“Wait,” Shepard interrupts, a line forming between her brows, “you two know each other?”

Garrus nods and shifts closer to her side, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Oh yeah, Ryder and my dad go way back.”

“Speaking of; how’s that crabby bastard been?”

He shrugs, makes a noncommittal noise in the back of this throat—the sound echoed by his twin larynx. “Fine, I suppose. He’s not exactly thrilled that I left C-Sec to run around with a certain spectre,” he gives Shepard a pointed nudge with his elbow, mandibles fluttering as she grins unapologetically. “But he’ll get over it. Or not. Either way, I’m sure he’ll be lecturing me soon enough. I’ll tell him you said hi, though.”

Alec laughs into his glass. “Good to know he’s the same stubborn asshole. How about your momma? Last I saw her, she had your little sister still slung on her hip.” Garrus goes on to tell Alec that his mother was fine, though not without a few trips to the hospital over the past couple months that got them worried, and Solana was far from her mother’s hip and is instead a few years out of the mandatory military service and is apparently doing well in Palaven's capital, Cipritine, as an engineer. All the while, Shepard watches Garrus talk with an almost dazed sort of expression, her arm draped over his where it’s resting on the back of her barstool. Alec would recognize that look anywhere, namely in all his and Ellen’s old wedding photos.

Shepard’s omnitool pings, and she snaps out of her little stupor to check whatever is while sporting a rather impressive blush. “Oh shit. Vakarian, we gotta go.” Garrus stiffens immediately to attention, the scrolling text on his visor slowing as it pinpoints whatever is was Garrus had it programmed to do. Probably categorizing everything from Shepard’s vitals to the layout of this particular ward of the Citadel. Of course, any boyfriend of Shepard’s would have to know the distinction between _Quiss_ and _Commander—_ and she was definitely using the patented Commander Voice. She slips out of her chair and pulls out her credit chit, laying it on the bartop and tapping at the surface to pay her bill and, to his surprise, his. “We have to get to that stupid banquet, but I’ll see you later, Alec.” She says, pulling the old soldier into a one-armed hug. Shepard then loops her arm through Garrus’ and begins to pull him away, but not before stopping and laying a hand on Alec’s shoulder, a small smile pulling up the corner of her mouth. “I’ll swing by tomorrow to see Ellen. Let me know what I can do to help—with anything.”

Alec gives her a small, pained smile. Beyond thankful for such a good kid, even if he couldn’t really call her his own. Garrus tugs her slightly, gently reminding her that they needed to get going if they were gonna make it on time. Alec nods, “Thanks, kid. Go enjoy your party, you’ve earned it.” Shepard smiles and allows Garrus to lead her away, off to an awaiting skycar in the tiny lot just outside the bar’s open front. Alec watches them go with a wistful sort of fondness, nostalgic for the days in which he and Ellen would fly all over the Citadel just because they could, using Alec’s prestigious name to get access to off-limits areas. God, how he misses the days when he didn’t have to wondering if he’ll ever get to see his wife smile again, or worrying if his children are paying the consequences for his actions. He sighs, takes another drink, pulls up his omnitool and stares at that tempting little message.

“ _I can help. Whatever you need.”_

Alec chews on his cheek, thinks of Ellen’s worsening condition, the twins’ immediate and ugly exoneration of the Alliance for both of them, Cali’s near-banishment from the archaeology community, and the impending doom of the Reapers. He’s made so many mistakes, ruined so much, fucked over his children’s budding careers all for...what? A half-finished AI that couldn’t even do what it was made to? No matter how good his intentions were, what’s done is done, and he can’t undo it. The only thing left for him to do, is to try to do better. Hell, maybe he can even get them a fresh start. All of them. The Ryder family deserved that much. _Ellen, Callidora,_ and _Tobias_ deserved that much. He owed them that, and goddammit he was going to do whatever it takes to make it happen.

He downs the rest of his drink takes a deep breath, and begins typing out his message to this ‘mysterious benefactor’ that Jien had told him about; the altruistic billionaire who apparently believed in the Initiative.

_“I’ll take your deal, but not without a few conditions…”_


End file.
